


A Regular Female Gershwin

by TwinIvoryElephants



Category: Jojo Rabbit (2019)
Genre: Classical Music, Nazi Germany, Period Piece, Sappy, Sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinIvoryElephants/pseuds/TwinIvoryElephants
Summary: While Jojo struggles to find food in the days following the end of the war, Elsa decides to relearn how to play Inge's violin.
Relationships: Jojo Betzler & Elsa Korr
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	A Regular Female Gershwin

Elsa didn’t pick up Inge’s violin until a few days after the Allies took Germany. They kept quiet till then. Jojo didn’t venture out to get groceries unless absolutely necessary; it was a last resort, not in small part due to the fact that food was slow to arrive from the Americans and Russians and impossibly small rations were still being doled out in the meantime. She and Jojo knew that it was best not to be noticed—discovery meant separation, and separation was unthinkable. In the weeks following Rosie’s death, Elsa and Jojo had entwined around each other in the languid, tentative way that came with solitude and an excess of time together. Elsa read him poetry from the books he snuck home from the library, carefully avoiding Rilke until Jojo specifically said he wanted him. Elsa drew him pictures while he cooked her meals, old cans of soup and ragged, wilting vegetables sputtering in the pan. She drew pictures of rabbits in their burrows and snakes hiding in the grass.

“‘Love consists of this,’” Elsa read quietly after they ate. Both of them sat on the floor of Inge’s room, sprawled out on the wooden floorboards. “‘Two solitudes that meet, protect and greet each other.’”

One day, Elsa picked up Inge’s violin. Jojo was out foraging with rabbitlike diligence, separating inedible garbage from the edible. He tried to hide the source of the food from her, but he wasn’t very good at it. Elsa had often spied the dirtiness of his palms made slimy by old kitchen grease, seen him discreetly tear off moldy parts from their bread before dinner. Elsa didn’t say anything to him about it. Let Jojo keep his secret; let him think he was protecting her from information he thought would disgust her, as if she hadn’t lived in cramped places marked by squalor for years on end.

Elsa hadn’t touched a violin since she was very young. The sight of the bow, the dusty body, made her heart ache. When she took the instrument in her hands, it was smooth and heavy. It was of good quality. Elsa remembered with a sharp pang how envious she had been of Inge—her fine, well-made clothes, her kind, witty parents, her large, pretty room. Over the years, Elsa had learned to forgive herself for her jealousy; she had plenty of time to mull over her past sins while stuck in the various attics and crawl spaces that defined her existence since her parents were taken away. 

Elsa hefted the violin onto her collarbone and took the bow in her hand. She began to play a few notes; they squealed into the air. She’d have to learn to tune it if she wanted to play anything. She put Inge’s violin back in its case, taking care to be gentle. 

Over the next three weeks, while Jojo was out, Elsa re-learned how to tune the violin. Reading Inge’s old practice books distracted her from the hollowness of her stomach, the aftertaste of the spinach dug up from the garbage bins lingering on her palate. She prayed the violin’s strings wouldn’t break, swearing softly as she struggled to remember which notes on paper correlated to which sound. It had been so many years since she’d held a violin; it was humiliating to realize how little she retained. It only made Elsa remember how determined Inge had been to learn, how self-satisfied she looked when she finally played Bach and Gershwin. She’d been a regular prodigy in hindsight, Elsa realized. She remembered how Inge’s chubby childish fingers clasped the bow, her round elbow moving back and forth, so clearly. Instead of jealousy, now, she just felt sorrow. 

Jojo returned from his trips out foraging looking tired. He greeted her with as much cheer as he could seemingly muster, then lapsed into silence while they ate. Elsa kept her practice on Inge’s violin a secret. With life being what it was, she figured Jojo could use a pleasant surprise.

Elsa played for him one night after dinner in the living room. She retreated to Inge’s room on the pretense that she was retrieving a book of Rilke’s poetry, instead returning with the violin. Jojo sat up straight, his blue eyes wide at the sight of his late sister’s treasured instrument. She began to play, her bow humming over the strings with gentle deftness she’d worked hard to regain. Elsa played a snippets of Bach’s “Goldberg Variations,” unable to keep the smile off her face; by the time she stopped, having run out of notes to play successfully, her cheeks hurt. Jojo’s face filled her heart with joy; his eyes glistened, his cheeks flushed with emotion. 

He wiped his face coarsely with the back of his hand. “That was beautiful,” he said, voice rough with tears. He cleared his throat. “I remember that song, a little. Inge played it.”

Elsa sat next to him on the bench. Jojo wiped away his tears as quickly as they came, but they flowed faster than his fingertips could move. Elsa looked away, wondering if her playing had done more harm than good. Jojo had lost Rosie so recently, still; did he really need to be reminded of his late sister, as well?

Then Jojo grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers. Elsa felt something in her heart swell at his touch. She put down Inge’s violin and wrapped him in a hug. She thought about how her father would sweep her up and hold her so tight when she was a child, as if through sheer force of will he could squeeze her like a mold of clay until she was small and compact enough to put in his pocket, safe and protected. As she held Jojo tight, feeling his tears wet her shirt, she thought she understood that urge.

“I miss her,” he sobbed. “I miss _everyone_.”

Elsa lifted her hand and stroked his hair, unable to shake the feeling that she was trying and failing to ape Rosie. “I know,” she said honestly. “I know how it hurts.”

The next time Jojo went out to find food, Elsa went with him. Together, they foraged. Elsa made a game of it, trying to see how many carrots they could find versus cabbage, spinach, and other greens. Carrots counted for five points, spinach counted for two, cabbage counted for one. She didn’t know if Jojo enjoyed it much—the pickings were so scarce that it didn’t make for much of a game—but she had to try. “Don’t worry,” she told Jojo as they headed back home. “The Russians and Americans will bring us food soon. Then we’ll have much more than rations.”

“I know,” said Jojo gloomily. “I’m just tired of trying to fry bits of spinach. It makes the whole house smell.”

After their meager dinner, Jojo read her snatches of Rilke while she drew. 

Elsa didn’t touch Inge’s violin for a long while. As the weeks went by and the Allies’ hold on Germany grew more stable, and food started being imported properly, she felt a glimmer of curiosity as to whether Jojo would be willing to hear it again. When she asked, he gave a shrug. “Whatever you want,” he said stiffly. “You play it well.”

She played alone at night, when Jojo was asleep. She played softly, learning more, reading notes from Inge’s books until her eyes ached. 

When Jojo crept into Inge’s bedroom to listen to her play one night, his eyes were moist, but the tears didn’t fall. He listened quietly. When she finished, he clapped. “Elsa,” he said. “You’re a regular female Gershwin!”

“You should be in bed,” Elsa replied. “But thank you.” She bowed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jojo said. It was hard not to notice the bags under his eyes.

Elsa thought about the incessant practicing she’d been doing. “I can't, either,” she admitted. After a moment of silence, she readied her bow. “Another?”

Jojo took a deep breath. “Another.”

**Author's Note:**

> Does this end super abruptly? Yes. But I hope you enjoyed anyway! Reviews/kudos are very much welcome!


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